


36. blackout

by piggy09



Series: The Sestre Daily Drabble Project [177]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8996923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: “I don’t even know what they did to her.”“And she can’t tell us?”“No,” Sarah says, looking at Helena. Helena looks back at her, and then closes her eyes. Sarah can see the traceries of veins in her eyelids, even from here. It makes her sick. She looks away again.“Cosima,” she says, “she doesn’t even know her own bloody name.”“Okay,” Cosima says, and: “okay. We’ll – think of something. I promise.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [you try to move your feet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2554403) by [piggy09](https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09). 



> This will probably make no sense whatsoever without reading "you try to move your feet" first, just to warn ya.

Helena comes back from the military different. Sarah is used to Helena (as much as anyone can be used to Helena): twitchy and blank-eyed and unnaturally _strange_. But this is – strange, even by Helena-strange. She is so utterly and completely blank.

Sarah had risked everything to bring Helena home.

She thinks she did it wrong.

They got Sarah a truck to drive Helena out of the camp, and they’re maybe a minute out when Sarah says “Helena” and Helena says “I do not know what that means.” Then Helena closes her eyes again. She keeps doing that. Her eyes snap closed and then snap open, like a baby doll’s: mechanical, inhuman.

“What do you mean, you don’t know what that means,” Sarah says. “That’s your – _name_ , innit?”

“I don’t – _know_ ,” Helena says, and she makes a sound like an animal with its foot in a trap. “Leda. That’s what they said. About. Me. That I am Leda. _Leda_ , that’s. A name. For me.”

“Leda’s – all of us,” Sarah says, slowly. She doesn’t take her eyes off the road but it’s hard.

“I don’t know,” Helena says, the words shoving themselves out of her mouth like some sad attempt at a life line. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.”

* * *

Here is the thing: she doesn’t remember. She doesn’t remember any of it at all.

* * *

“Wait, are you saying she doesn’t _remember?_ ” Cosima says – with absolutely terrible volume control, considering Helena is sitting on Felix’s couch right behind them. She keeps doing those odd, long blinks, though. She isn’t even looking at them. From time to time she rubs her hands on her swelling belly, or the short brown fuzz where her hair used to be.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m _saying_ , Cos, she doesn’t know who I am, she – they did something to her, again, and it’s my bloody fault—” Sarah’s pacing in circles, can’t help herself. _Fault fault fault_ a sick drumbeat in her chest. There are angry tears coming to her eyes and she wipes them away but they come back. They come back anyways.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, don’t cry,” Cosima says, grabbing at her wrist and then her hand. “Sarah? Sarah, you’re okay. We’re going to make this okay.”

“ _How_ ,” Sarah says.

“We’ll – figure it out,” Cosima says.

“I don’t even know what they _did_ to her.”

“And she can’t tell us?”

“No,” Sarah says, looking at Helena. Helena looks back at her, and then closes her eyes. Sarah can see the traceries of veins in her eyelids, even from here. It makes her sick. She looks away again.

“Cosima,” she says, “she doesn’t even know her own bloody name.”

“Okay,” Cosima says, and: “okay. We’ll – think of something. I _promise_.”

* * *

Sarah hates herself for this thought more than she’s ever hated anything in the world, but she can’t stop thinking it: Helena is easier like this. She’s like a doll. You wind her up and she goes to wherever you want her to go, and she does whatever you want her to do, and she doesn’t laugh too loud or say strange things or threaten to murder anybody. She just – sits. She closes her eyes. She opens her eyes again.

Sarah sits with her sometimes. They don’t talk about anything. At first Sarah tried saying things like _you used to like this_ or _do you remember this_ but Helena would just say _my head hurts, my head hurts, my head hurts_ and then she would start screaming. She does that. She starts screaming; she doesn’t stop for a long time. So Sarah has stopped trying to tell Helena about herself.

Leda, probably. She should call her Leda; that’s what Helena thinks her name is. But it feels like giving up, so Sarah – doesn’t.

When Sarah sits next to Helena, her sister looks at her and says “Sarah.” She’ll pause – she’ll tilt her head from side to side – and she’ll say it again, and again, like a bird peeping. _Sarah. Sarah! Sarah._ So at least she remembers that.

“What are you thinking about,” Sarah asks her one day, when they’re sitting on the couch in Felix’s loft. She wants to know. She wants to carefully and gently open up Helena’s head, empty her skull onto the floor and sort out the tangle of her thoughts. She didn’t know she knew how to want something like that, but she does. She wants it.

“I don’t,” Helena says. “Think. Really.” She looks at Sarah. “It’s the colors.”

“The colors?”

“Yes. I stare until I start crying—” (she demonstrates) “and then close my eyes, and the colors stay the same. I like it.”

“Oh, wow,” Sarah says, voice strained. “Sounds fun.”

“It is.” Helena keeps her eyes closed for a second or two more; she does look peaceful, that’s the good part of it. She looks calmer than Sarah has ever seen her. Then Helena opens her eyes again.

“Sarah,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“When I close my eyes,” Helena says, “your face is still there.” She turns and looks at Sarah, brow furrowed. “Is that sad?”

“I don’t know,” Sarah says. “Why – why d’you think it’s sad?”

Helena considers this. “You’re alone,” she says slowly, like she’s puzzling it out. “But also. You are there? In the dark. Many times there is no one in the dark. But you’re there.” She looks at Sarah. “I don’t know if it makes me sad.”

“Maybe,” Sarah says quietly. “I don’t know either. Got a knack for tough questions, don’t you.” She swallows. “It okay if I – touch you?”

Helena bites her lip, furrows her brow. “Okay,” she says. “Yes.”

Sarah slings an arm over Helena’s shoulder and Helena keeps staring into space. She closes her eyes. She opens them again. She is very warm under Sarah’s arm, and she’s here, and she’s real. Sarah looks at her for a moment and then closes her eyes. Helena is still there, made of a million bright colors that Sarah – after all this time – can’t name.


End file.
